


Slow Nights

by TriDom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chris smokes weed and drives he's a bad man, M/M, Mentor!Peter (off screen), No Stiles Doesn't Care, Police Officer!Chris, Tatto Artist!Stiles, apprentice!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 10:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: When Stiles is working late at the tattoo parlor, his dad's new undersheriff, Chris Argent, comes in for a tattoo just when he was about to close up. He reeks of weed, but Stiles has never been a snitch.





	Slow Nights

A client hadn’t been in the shop in three hours. Stiles looked up from his phone and clicked on his phone’s screen, showing the time. Only twenty minutes has passed since the last time he’d check it. Since his boss left, he’d restocked his unit, done the list for inventory, messed with some sketches, and designs in photoshop. Almost all of his cases were up to the point that he either needed a yes or no from a client. So he read.

His chair creaked as he stretched out with his feet on top of the glass counter. Alice in Chains was playing from the large bluetooth speaker on a shelf above his head. The space heater in his boss’s room was still on, humming loudly. He needed to put a sticky on the top of it, neon, reminding Peter to turn the fucking thing off before he left for the night.

When headlights washed across the parking lot, Stiles looked up from his book again. Most of the time it was people crossing through the narrow strip mall parking lot to avoid the stoplight that could stay red for minutes at a time this late at night.

Then a black Tahoe pulled in front of the shop, its HIDs bright even through the tinted glass before the driver shut it off.

Stiles pulled his feet off the glass case, which Peter hated, but what Peter didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. As he stood up, the front door came open and a man in a Beacon Hills county uniform came in. His overshirt was mostly unbuttoned and five-o’clock shadow was dark on his cheeks. Stiles thought he was his dad’s new undersheriff, the name, Argent, on his chest confirmed it.

“Hey,” Stiles said.

“Good evening,” Argent said, coming closer, barely staggering as he looked around the shop, then toward Peter’s door. “Is Peter here?”

“He’s gone for the night,” Stiles said, “But can I help you?”

His eyes were red. It looked like maybe he’d been crying. Stiles reached over and clicked on his phone screen, nothing from his dad or one of the deputies. His heart rate slowed. Then Argent came closer, his hand barely touching the glass case that they kept tattoo salves in.

Stiles could smell weed. He looked up at his eyes and the light blue was surrounded by red-veins. Mixed with the stubble and the wrinkled overshirt, he looked rough, still hot, but rough.

“Are you wanting a tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“We don’t normally tattoo people who are high,” Stiles said.

“I’m not-,” Argent said, then cleared his throat. “I was expecting it to be Peter. I-. We’re friends.”

“Okay? Maybe you should come back tomorrow when he’s here.”

“I’d like to get the tattoo tonight,” Argent said. “Could you call him, please? I would but my phone is dead.”

Stiles drummed his fingers on the glass case. Peter wasn’t crazy about it when he called him. Especially when he was on a date, which Stiles knew he was. Some twink-looking pretentious dick.

“Please, Stiles? Right? Just call him.”

Stiles started to open his mouth to say no again, but it wasn’t like he wore a name tag. Sure, there were plenty of ways for Argent to know his name, he worked for his dad for fuck’s sake, but maybe he knew it, because he knew Peter. Maybe it was the uniform or the thousand yard stare that he recognized way too much from his dad’s face, but he picked up his phone and called Peter. It only took two rings for him to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’ve got a guy here saying he knows you,” Stiles said. “He’s high and wants a tattoo.”

“What’s his name?”

“What’s your name?” Stiles asked, looking at the guy.

“Chris.”

“Oh, Christopher,” Peter said, hearing the guy through the phone. He said it like he was already laughing. “Tall-ish, dark hair, handsome?”

“Undersheriff?” Stiles asked.

“That would be him,” Peter said. “Tattoo a penis on him for me.”

Stiles laughed slightly. “Yeah probably not.”

“You can tattoo him. It’s fine,” Peter said. “What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“I’ll pay you overtime.”

“Okay, cool,” Stiles said, then he heard Peter’s boyfriend of the month whining in the background. He didn’t hold back the eyeroll.

“Send me a picture when you’re done.”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles said.

“Good boy,” Peter said before he hung up.

Stiles didn’t have time to think about the fact that that voice hit him right in the crotch every time, and Peter knew it did. It was his way of trying to break Stiles saying sir all the time, but his dad was a sheriff. He was probably going to call older men sir until the day he died.

“Okay, we’re good to go,” Stiles said. “Let me get some paperwork and we can talk about the details.”

“Thank you.”

Stiles went into the room where he did all of his designing on the computer. Peter had his work station set up on a desk on the other side of the room. Stiles dug through the accordion binder and came up with the consent forms, taking them back out to the front.

“What are you wanting?” Stiles asked.

“An old school rose on my hip,” Chris said, taking the papers and signing them without Stiles explaining anything or even asking. Then he pushed them back across the glass.

“I’m not as good at old school as Peter is.”

“Can you do it?” Chris asked, looking up.

“Yeah, I’m just saying it’s not my specialty.”

“That’s okay.”

“How big do you want it and where?” Stiles asked, coming around the counter, grabbing a piece of paper from beneath the counter and a blue marker.

Chris unbuttoned his on-duty pants and pulled them down slightly. Stiles could just see the beginning of dark pubic hair as Chris circled his fingers near the divot of his hip. Stiles leaned down in front of Chris, trying to ignore the fact that he could smell Chris’s laundry detergent and the warm, almost salty scent of his skin after a day of working.

When he had a rough circle for size, Stiles stood up and went back toward his office.

“You can come with me in here or take a seat out here,” Stiles said.

Chris followed him down the hall to his office, buttoning his pants. Stiles wiped one of his sweaty hands on his pants as he sat in his office chair in front of his computer. Chris sat in Peter’s chair and looked around at the walls covered in his and Peter’s art. Since they were the only artists in the shop it was a pretty even divide.

“How long have you worked for Peter?”

“Almost two years,” Stiles said.

“You said you don’t do old school-.”

“I didn’t say I don’t do it. It’s just not my specialty, but then again I don’t really know anyone whose better at it than Peter.”

“What is your specialty?”

“I like what people want,” Stiles said, pulling up his file of old school style images and finding a few different roses. He messed with the sizes and contrasts before printing them out. “I like doing portraits and photorealism. I’m learning to like lettering. Probably why Peter hired me. He can put the shit he doesn’t want to do on me.”

“Is some of this yours?” Chris asked, looking at Stiles’s side of the room.

“All of it on this side is.”

“Then he didn’t just hire you for the jobs he didn’t want.”

Stiles smiled slightly. “Thanks,” he said before he hit print and took the piece of still warm paper from the printer and showed it to Chris. “Do you like any of these?”

Chris looked at the paper Stiles held up. He stared so long that Stiles was only aware of the tickling of the second hand on the clock.

“Bottom left.”

“Cool,” Stiles said, taking the paper and standing up. “Let’s go.”

He heard Chris’s footsteps on the tile back to his office. His station overlooked the street with a large set of windows. He turned on his own space heater and rearranged his space until he had his table out and had scooted the chair he’d used with his previous client out of the way. He wiped it down, looking up occasionally to see Chris staring out of the windows.

“Sorry it’s so cold. The windows are good for looks, but suck for insulation.”

“It’s fine,” Chris said.

When he was finished wiping, Stiles patted the table. “Hop up and pull your pants down.”

Chris laid down on the table and Stiles turned away as he lifted his ass to push down his pants. Stiles prepped his equipment for a few minutes, his music from the lobby barely reaching them. Before he put on his gloves, he turned up the volume on his phone until the music was a decent volume in the small space.

When Stiles turned around to place the tattoo, he made himself look up from Chris’s crotch. He’d pushed his pants down to the point that he could see the base of his dick. Stiles grabbed a towel and tucked it into the edge of his underwear, trying not to touch his junk, but covering his clothing from the ink and covering up his skin. It wasn’t the first dick he’d partially seen on the top, but Chris was much better looking than his normal clientele.

“Where do you want it?” Stiles asked again, not because he didn’t know, but it was always best to double check before marking someone for life.

Chris pointed to the same place, the divot on his hip. Stiles stood over him, looking down at the space of mostly bare skin free of any of the dark hair that started closer to his naval. He twisted and turned the stencil a few times before laying it, the small leaves almost framing Chris’s hip bone. Stiles only had to shave away a few stray hairs before picking up his tattoo gun.

“I’m going to start with the outline. I’m guessing you’ve had a few of these, so you know what’s coming,” Stiles said before he pushed up Chris’s shirt more. Another tattoo peaked from beneath the edge of his white undershirt.  
“I’ll be still,” Chris said.

“Cool,” Stiles said, then he pressed on the foot pedal and the machine started to hum.

When he pressed the needle to Chris’s skin, he laid perfectly still with his eyes closed. Stiles worked for a few moments, getting a feel for the texture and elasticity of his skin. It was nice and tight for a guy his age.

“So how long have you known Peter?” Stiles asked, before he wiped at the excess ink pebbling on the black outline.

“Since college. We were roommates.”

“Was he always such a smart ass?”

That got a faint smile. Just the twitch of Chris’s mouth.

“You can’t learn that level of bitchiness.”

They were quiet for a few more seconds and Stiles was willing to shut up. Some people just liked to experience getting tattooed. If Chris was one of those people, that was fine.

“Do you like him?” Chris asked.

“Peter?” Stiles asked. “Yeah he’s a good guy. Great boss.”

He was fucking gorgeous and had a perfect ass. The talent was something else all together. Yeah he liked Peter, way more than he should.

“He’s talked to me about you. He says you’re a good artist.”

“I guess you’ll see, won’t you?”

Chris laughed and Stiles lifted away the gun slightly until his skin stopped moving.

“So you guys stayed close after college?”

Chris nodded. “He’s my best friend.”

“That’s cool,” Stiles said, then a small connection pinged. “You’re the guy who lived in Michigan?”

“Probably. I don’t think Peter knows anyone else there.”

“He was stoked about you moving back.”

“He would be, fucking tenderheart.”

Stiles laughed, pausing to flex his hand. He’d done a five hour tattoo that afternoon. His hand was still aching from it.

“So you work for the police station?”

“Yeah. I transferred a few months ago,” he said.

“Where’d you come from?”

“Detroit.”

“That has to be a big change.”

“I wanted something quieter.”

“Well you got it. BH is about as quiet as it gets.”

“It is,” Chris said.

Now his eyes were open as he stared at the ceiling. Stiles didn’t know what Peter and this guy had in common aside from being hot as hell. Still that didn’t seem like enough to form a best friend level friendship. Maybe it was that they were both stoners and had a fuck-the-man attitude about it, because Stiles knew the station drug tested, at least for new hires.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. Most days.”

“Today wasn’t one of those days?”

Chris shook his head. “I had to give a DOA call for a twenty-three year old.”

“I’m sorry, man, that sucks,” Stiles said, wiping at Chris’s reddening skin again. “What happened?”

“It was just an overdose. Nothing novel, but I hate making those calls.”

“Yeah I bet.”

He needed to call his dad. Any kind of deaths involving people around his age fucked him up. He was surprised his dad hadn’t already called him.

“Was the sheriff there?”

“He got there as the parents got on the scene,” Chris said, swallowing hard. “He’s something.”

“Yeah he’s a good guy.”

“I’ve never worked under a sheriff that sincere.”

Stiles wiped at the puffy inked skin and wanted to open his mouth, but he didn’t. That tone was unmistakable. Chris wasn’t the first of his dad’s men to get a crush on him, but he was probably the most appropriate, age and temperament.

“He’s married to the job, but no one can really fault him for it. He’s good at it,” Stiles said.

“It’s a shame. He could get about anyone he wanted. He still wears his ring though. I don’t know how long ago his wife died-.”

“She died 13 years ago,” Stiles said. When Chris looked down at him, Stiles shrugged. “I’m his son.”

“You’re his son?”

Stiles nodded. “He doesn’t call me Stiles at the station normally. It’s always my kid.”

“Yeah it is,” Chris said. “He talks about you all the time.”

“He’s a sap.”

Chris smiled slightly, then let his head drop back to the table. “Are you going to tell him I came in loaded?”

“Nah, you’ve got client/tattooer confidentiality.”

Chris snorted. “Do I now?”

“Yep,” Stiles said, “I’m basically your lawyer now.”

“Thanks,” Chris said, laughing slightly. “I’m normally not like this.”

“We all have our days,” Stiles said, continuing his outline on Chris’s pale skin that was almost always covered by clothing. “He’s told me about you though. He’s glad he hired you.”

“Me too.”

“But the crush is hopeless,” Stiles said. “He hasn’t dated anyone since Mom and I’m pretty sure he’s as straight as you can get, but really it doesn’t matter, because he’d rather be alone than be with anyone who isn’t her, so he’ll just stay married to his job.”

“I figured that.”

“I’d like him to date, but,” Stiles shrugged. “I want him to be happier more than that and he’s one of those rare people that I think really is just happy being alone.”

“It’d be easier if he was an asshole.”

Stiles laughed. “Just piss him off once and you’ll see that side.”

“I’ve seen him get angry with deputies. It’s never without a good reason.”

“Yeah he’s fair.”

“He is.”

Stiles kept going, lifting his gun slightly as Chris rolled up his sleeves as it finally started to get warm. He had an old school snarling wolf on his inner forearm, taking up the space from elbow to wrist.

“You guys have matching tattoos?” Stiles asked.

“Who?”

“You and Peter.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chris said, looking down at the wolf. “He did them when he was in his first or second year interning.”

“They’re really good.”

“He’s a talented son of a bitch.”

“So you’re both gay?”

“Is that a problem?”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah it’s gross as fuck.”

When Chris looked at him, he shook his head, still laughing.

“No it’s not a problem,” Stiles said, not lifting the needle head. “I’m a fan of dick too. Sensitive.”

“You’re a little shit,” Chris said, dropping his head back down to the table and closing his eyes.

“Did you guys ever date?”

“No. In college he was a whore and I liked making straight men hate themselves,” Chris said.

“So I get why you guys are friends now.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re both awful.”

“We both can be.”

“Peter’s still a whore, so does that mean you still fuck guys to make them hate themselves?”

Chris shook his head. “I’ve grown out of it.”

“Good. That’s not a very nice hobby.”

“No it wasn’t, but I didn’t care.”

The outline was almost finished. Soon Stiles would start packing in the red. That would be when he’d see if Chris was a jumper with the sensitive skin he was working with. In the other room, Alt-J came on, a song he’d gotten addicted to in college. He started to hum it under his breath as he worked.

“Have you had sex with Peter?”

“What?” Stiles asked.

“Jesus,” Chris said, squeezing his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose again. “I’m sorry. My filter is gone.”

Stiles laughed slightly, but his stomach felt full of helium. “No I haven’t. Why?”

“You’re his type. You’re cute and young, you have tattoos, tattoos by him which is an even bigger selling point for him.”

“Yeah? And what’s your type?” Stiles asked, thinking about the right shade of red to use. He’d mix something pure with something a little darker.

“I don’t have one. I don’t like men that are too vain, overly muscled or look like they spend a lot of time on their looks. Someone smart helps. If they haven’t picked up a book since high school, then I don’t have much interest.”

“Yeah that’s all good to tell someone out loud, but you don’t want to fuck someone’s brain,” Stiles said. “I don’t care how fucking smart they are.”

“I like small waists.”

“There we go,” Stiles said, laughing slightly. “Do you have a size kink?”

“I never really thought about it,” Chris said. “Maybe.”

“I like fucking bigger guys,” Stiles said.

“That’s the only thing you like?”

Stiles shrugged. “I mostly date older guys, like late thirties, early forties, not in their sixties. Then you get into old man ass and I’m not in it for that.”

“Are tattoos a must?”

“They’re a plus,” Stiles said. “If nothing else it gives you something to talk about. Not to mention, with all this going on, I’m probably not going to attract a guy in the first place who doesn’t at least have one.”

“That’s true,” Chris said. “They look good on you.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said. “Dad thinks I like look, and I quote, ‘Someone I’d find robbing a liquor store’.”

Chris laughed. “He’s not completely wrong, but your face is too sweet. You’re a good kid.”

“Hey, I’m a rebel,” Stiles said.

“What’s the last thing you stole?”

Stiles looked up and laughed slightly, “Fine. I’m a sham. I pay for my shit. I stop completely at stop signs. I help little old ladies load their groceries at the store. Me and Dad go in together at Christmas to get dogs at the shelter toys and rawhides.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t want to run into you in a dark alley. You might give me the shirt off your back.”

“I might,” Stiles said. “I’m about to start the color,” he said as he prepared his other tattoo gun.

“Okay,” Chris said.

Stiles mixed the red ink until it was the shade he wanted and dipped the multi-tipped gun into the small container. He stretched Chris’s skin tight and started on the petals of the rose farthest from his hip bone.

“How old are you?” Chris asked.

“Twenty-five,” Stiles said. “You?”

“Forty.”

“But you’re only in your second year of tattooing?”

“I was stupid and went for my art degree first.”

“Peter did the same thing.”

“That’s why he hired me over guys who had a shit ton of experience,” Stiles said. “He liked that I could actually use the vocabulary and knew the rules. He’s a snob.”

Chris laughed. A real laugh. Stiles smiled slightly, glancing up at him. When he kept laughing, Stiles took the chance to pop his back before bending back over Chris’s hip.

“Sorry, just he was such an asshole in school,” Chris said. “I love him, but he could be the most pretentious son of a bitch when it came to art. Of course that’s what he’d base hiring someone off of.”

“I had never tattooed anyone.”

Chris laughed a few more good times before he wiped his eyes. “He’s so predictable.”

“He really is.”

“Is this what you wanted to do with your degree?”

“I didn’t know what I wanted. I just knew I liked to draw and paint. Basically making anything,” Stiles said. “Then I got my first tattoo when I was twenty and I was hooked. Peter actually did it when I was home on Christmas break my Junior year.”

“What is it?”

“A sparrow on my chest,” Stiles said.

“That’s a brave spot on someone as thin as you.”

“Yeah it hurt like a bitch, but I like some pain,” he said. “That’s not as morbid as it sounds, I promise.”

“I get it,” Chris said. “I have a few I got just to have some catharsis.”

“And Peter’s pretentious?” Stiles asked, smiling slightly.

Chris huffed a laugh. “There’s not another word for it.”

“There really isn’t,” Stiles said. “Well this is going to be a pretty fucking sick session of catharsis.”

“Is it looking good?”

Stiles nodded, leaning closer as he got near the outline with the color packing in vibrant, mixing with Chris’s blood and making it darker. He kept wiping away the pebbling of blood, his paper towel making Chris’s skin more and more red. Stiles left the coloring of green near his hip bone for the end. As soon as he put the gun to Chris’s skin there, he got the first sound out of him, a slow long exhale through his mouth.

“Sorry, they aren’t very big.”

“Take your time.”

“Sadist.”

Chris started to tap his fingers on the side of the vinyl table, his eyebrows drawing closer together.

“Burns doesn’t it?”

“Like a bitch,” Chris said.

“I have one of my right hip. It goes down my leg some and my ass. That was probably the worst one I ever got. I must have some weird nerve down there.”

“Did Peter do that too?”

“He’s done all of mine except two,” Stiles said.

“Does that count as sexual harassment?”

Stiles laughed. “Maybe if he actually had any intentions other than tattooing.”

When Stiles looked up from packing in the green, Chris was staring at him. His eyes were still red. He must’ve gotten some good shit. They’d been going at it for nearly an hour and a half.

“What?”

“I can’t believe that Peter hasn’t tried to have sex with you.”

“Thanks?”

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Chris said. “You’re just his type.”

“You’d think,” Stiles said. “I’ve seen the little fuckers he dates. We’re not a far shot from each other.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to shit where he eats,” Chris said.

“Maybe.”

Stiles wetted a new paper towel and wiped over the tattoo, looking at it closely to look for patchy places. He didn’t see any, but with blood and red ink it was always hard to tell. He gave it one last wipe with the wet paper towel and sat back.

“Okay, take a look,” he said.

Chris pushed himself up on the table, pulling the towel out of the hem of his pants and going to the mirror. He looked down at the tattoo, pulling down his pants more. Stiles could see the top of his ass. When he realized he was staring, he made himself start to clean up his area.

“Think you’ll keep it?” Stiles asked.

Chris laughed slightly. “It’s great, Stiles.”

“I have to get a picture for Peter.”

Chris came back toward him and Stiles stayed on his stool. He held up his phone and took a picture of the shiny tattoo in the overhead lights then sent it to Peter before getting out the wrapping to put over the new ink to keep it from staining Chris’s clothes until he got home.

“Take this off in about 30 minutes.”

“Okay,” Chris said.

As Stiles was pressing the covering in place, he realized where he was and how close his face was to Chris’s dick. He forced his professional face to stay put as he finished wrapping it. Then he made the mistake of looking up. Chris had pretty eyes. They were a lot prettier from that angle.

“Can I see the sparrow Peter did on you?” Chris asked.

“Uh, sure,” Stiles said. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Which one?” Chris asked.

“Whatever is on your chest.”

“I have a few,” Chris said, pulling his pants back up and buttoning them.

It had to hurt to have the pressure against the broken skin, but Chris didn’t even wince. Then he pulled his overshirt off. His biceps were as covered as his forearms. Almost all of them looked like they’d been done by Peter. The same style. The same precise perfect line work and coloring. Then he pulled his t-shirt over his head and Stiles focused on keeping his hands to himself. Chris has a large hourglass on one side and an anchor behind it that looked like it had probably been done some time after. Roses, almost just like the ones he’d done were all around it, with different levels of fading.

“Peter did that?”

Chris nodded.“God knows if I got a bad one from someone else he’d never let me live it down.”

“It’s fucking great.”

“I like it,” Chris said, looking down at his own chest, running his hand over the tattoos before pulling his t-shirt back on.

Stiles unbuttoned his flannel then shrugged it off on the table. He knew this wasn’t cool. This isn’t what he did with clients. Yeah he was a tattoo artist and had a pretty casual repore with his people, but this was beyond that. He’d never stripped in front of them. Then he pulled off his worn t-shirt and pulled up his jeans that had fallen down too much.

Chris didn’t have Stiles’s restraint apparently. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was just who he was, but as soon as Stiles’s shirt was off, he was standing closer, looking at the tattoos then Stiles felt his hot fingertips against the sparrow on the left side of his chest.

“That’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” he said. “My mom had one, so,” he shrugged.

“It’s nice,” Chris said, then he looked farther down. “Is that a dragon?” he asked, looking at the hump of a serpent over the top of Stiles’s hip.

“It’s a sea serpent,” Stiles said, “I’m not trying to flash you,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down on one side, just enough to show most of serpent that went down his leg and up his hip, the head of it was on his back, just around his side. When Chris walked around to see it, Stiles was hyper aware of the air on the very top of his ass. It wasn’t like he hasn’t seen more of Chris.

“Peter did that? I’ve never seen him do something like that.”

“I drew it,” Stiles said, “But I couldn’t really tattoo my own ass, so he offered.”

“Of course he did,” Chris said. “If that’s what you do, you’ll have to do one on me.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Stiles said, but he was getting hot again. It wasn’t that he didn’t know he was decent, he did, but it was still embarrassing to hear.

Then Stiles’s phone went off on the table Chris has been laying on. Stiles pulled up his jeans and grabbed his phone off the table. It was just a reply from Peter.

_Wonderful. You should ask to see Chris’s roses on his chest. Yours are just as good as mine._

_Already seen them and I saw that too. :P Thanks, boss._

_Of course you have. He’s pretty isn’t he?_

“He’s trying to whore me out?” Chris asked, seeing Stiles’s screen as he buttoned his overshirt.

Stiles laughed slightly, putting the phone down. “Yeah I guess so.”

Chris shook his head before he reached into his back pocket. “What do I owe you?”

“It wasn’t even two hours, so $140.”

“Keep the change,” Chris said, putting two hundred dollar bills in his hand.

“Thanks,” he said as he put the money in his back pocket.

Chris put his own wallet up, looking at Stiles’s phone, but not like he was reading. Just staring. He straightened his shirt before he looked up at Stiles.

“I don’t think you having a crush on Peter is hopeless. He would probably be all over you if you have him half a chance,” Chris said, “But, if you’re not completely hung up on him, could I take you to dinner?”

Stiles laughed slightly, shutting off his phone screen. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Can I have your number? I’ll call you when I get my schedule for next week,” Chris said.

“Sure,” Stiles said and read off his number with Chris plugging it into his own phone.

With Chris all done up in uniform, it probably should’ve turned Stiles off. He liked a man in uniform, but one in the same uniform his dad normally wore, that was usually too close to home. But with Chris that didn’t seem to matter. Maybe it was knowing everything being hidden by the clothes. Like he knew a secret that most people didn’t. The stink of weed had worn off, he seemed sober, fairly put together, he looked like any other cop.

When he was done, Chris looked up with a small smile that barely crinkled the edges of his eyes.

“It was good to meet you.”

“Same,” Stiles said, shaking his hand.

“I’ll call you soon.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling again and trying not to feel like a fucking idiot.

He was going to go on a date with his dad’s new undersheriff and his boss’s best friend. There were a thousand different ways that could go wrong and Stiles didn’t really care.

**Author's Note:**

> I may end up adding to this. If I do it'll be Stetopher. Subscribe to the story if you'd like that update.
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr here, [TriDom ](http://tridom.tumblr.com/)


End file.
